


The Shafted

by AevumAce



Series: Cresswell Legacies [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Amnesia, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Smut, F/F, Lust at First Sight, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Murder, The Madwoman in the Attic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AevumAce/pseuds/AevumAce
Summary: She woke up bruised and wounded, trapped in an underground cellar, with no memory as to why she got there.





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Story contains elements that might be triggering or squicking, so please mind the tags.
> 
> This will be the first work of fiction I post here that isn't tied to a fandom. I know the chapter's short, but the story will get longer as it progresses. I hope you guys enjoy it.

As her eyes focused on entering the light through her iris, the images were blurry at first. There was pain present in her every limb and in her head. She also felt something lodged in her feet – shrapnel or a stake. It took her about a minute to adjust to the dark room with a few trails of light from the broken rooftop from above.

_Where am I?_

The smell of rotting wood made her believe the building she’s in was really old. She felt some of it behind her. The roughness, the raw and every pins and needle pain grated on her nerves like sandpaper on raw skin. It was so unpleasant.

She screamed and screamed until her voice turned sore. The eerie silence that came next caused hope to seep out from her.

The sticky liquid trailed from her head to her cheeks. She took a lungful of air which made her feel alive when she sniffed something familiar and unpleasant. A scent that hangs on the air, beginning to disappear. It was something tangy that dried. When her eyes finally adjusted, she let out a stifled scream.

This time, she could feel the dryness of her throat. She’s in a cramped dusty space of what looks like a cellar, with bruises and wounds covering her whole body. She fell from above, that she figured much. Though the place was foreign, she didn’t seem to remember why she was here or what caused her to be here at all.

“Help,” she croaked, choking back tears, staggering back to her feet.

_This is a dream – I know it. Definitely a dream, yes, what else could be? Okay, that’s alright, I’m fine. No panicking! I’m going to wake up in no time._

And to prove her point, she pinched herself, as if the number of wounds and bruises she had weren’t enough.

Guess what?

The pinch hurts.

She attempted to suppress the ongoing panic chilling in her bones, but her state of hallucination was too surreal. She wanted to go back to her comfort.

With a sharp breath, she pushed her upper body to sit. She began to think it was a bad move when her whole body ached. She thrashed involuntarily. It was seemingly a bad reflex but at least she found that she had no broken bones.

She looked around for an exit and found none. Well, except for the hole she fell through in the roof. With another whimper, she dragged herself off the stone floor.

_Why am I here? Who am I? What happened to me? How am I going to get out of this hell hole?_

“No, this can’t be happening...” She muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. No memories started to flood back to her and to her now rather functional brain.

She laid sideways and hugged herself, protectively. The feeling of the hard cold stone floor, the wrinkles in her clothes, and the dried blood all over her felt like spiders crawling in her skin, and the pounding pain her injuries were enough to make her bawl her eyes all over.

After the shock wore off, her stomach growled in a mortal hunger.

She figured, she’s probably in an underground cellar, judging from the sunlight and the underside of tree leaves above. She scanned thoroughly her surroundings again. There were lots of old tools and old furniture such as a grand piano, a wardrobe, a rusty faucet, a cellar, a grandfather clock, old books on a bookshelf, three toy chests, old mannequins, a sewing machine, broken angel sculptures, rusty gardening tools, and a cheval glass mirror. All of which could’ve been as old as her grandmother.

Standing up, she ambled lamely to the mirror and saw a ghost of her. The face that greeted her when I looked at the mirror startled her. Pale, except for the bruises, lips cracked, frizzy hair, and two eye colors. A green and gray one. She didn’t let that fact rattle her. It was her. She should get used to herself. She also has enough dried blood on her clothes that couldn’t be hers at all. Her wounds aren’t that life-threatening, but it sure does look unpleasant.

After a few minutes of reprimanding herself, she staggered to one of the walls and looked around again. There was still no door or window, not even a hole her size, except the one at the top.

There was also the smell of gas. It bothered her.

_I hate it. I hate it so much._

A scream burst through her throat again. Tears squeezed through her eyes and once she calmed down, a new smell wafted to her nose. She followed the trail and saw the gas container beside the wardrobe. She then looked through antiques and old metals scraps. It nearly made her lose the last remaining hope in her when she found a door, just behind the bookshelf. Whoever placed that there didn’t want the passage to strangers here.

_How could people build such a thing and didn’t make an exit?_

She hissed at the non-offending air. Which got her thinking, how did the owner of this place leave? There’s got to be another way out.

She accessed everything again.

_I’m alive. I fell, I’m trapped. I’m so uncomfortable. I’m injured and I’m hungry._

The fact that she acknowledged that she is hungry made her stomach rumble more. Her throat was parched dry. She could’ve been here unconscious for a couple of days and no one rescued her yet.

Checking her pockets, she discovered she had nothing on her. She just realized that her white dress shirt was reddened like the color of blossomed roses. She removed her one of her blacked heeled boots and one shiny metal clanged as it fell onto the floor.

It was a dagger.

She instantly stared inside the boot where it came from and found its sheath. For some reason, she hid a weapon in there. She slowly removed the other one and winced.

A sudden pain pierced through her ankle. Her left foot was sprained. The discolored part was ugly. Better treat it first. Since the muscle was rested, she had to compress something cold in it.

_Well, shit, there’s no ice or snow in here and there’s no way I can climb up there with her untreated wounds and sprains._

“Help me!” Her throat tightened, but she went on. “I’m stuck down here! Anyone up there?” Her voice bounced off the walls, and it seemed there was no one at the top.

When her own voice echoed, she felt silly. Here she was, a damsel in distress, yet she refused to acknowledge it. She can find a way out on her own and it got her thinking,

_Who am I anyway?_

Anger rose from her, she was such a fool.

_Now, what do I do?_

She can’t treat her own wounds and she can’t even remember her bloody name!

The rational part of her told her to just climb the hole where she fell in the first place, but her sprain’s not fully healed yet and she might be adding injury to herself if she continued on the first plan.

She opened the wardrobe, and she was thankful there are clean dressing and a variety of white cloths that can be served as bandages. She grabbed them then remembered the faucet. Hopefully, it still works and the water’s cold.

Limping towards its direction, she placed her pale hand on the rusty metal knob and turned it. Water gushed out. Good. But the water smell. As if it was stagnant for a long time. And it was foul, she liked the smell of the dried blood better.

After some time, the smell subsided, she reached a finger to feel the water, and it was cold. Glad that the weather wasn’t hot enough to warm it. She stretched out her sprained leg and let it feel the coldness of the earth’s fresh liquid. It made her feet numb but in a good way.

Since she had to cool it preferably for a whole day, she began rinsing her other wounds under pressure and prayed she won’t get infected or even ran out of water. Removing small foreign materials such as wood splinters and broken glasses on her skin, she allowed the wounds open to drain it of any infections.

After a thorough cleaning, she covered her huge wounds with a clean dressing and placed an old but still useable bandage over them.

She had been doing so well then her stomach grumbled. The will to live to control over all of her instincts. She pushed her upper body to stand up and stared at the cellar cabinet. Moving towards its direction, she tried to wrench the door free, but it was locked. Looking around, she spotted the old desk with a broken lantern in it. She pulled the drawers out and found candles, a match, old parchments, inks, and feathers. Her hands roamed and rearranged every content until she found a key.

Trying it on the cellar, it fitted and clicked when she turned it.

_Lucky!_

There was wine, honey, smoked fish and some preserved jar. There was a clean bucket at the back of the cellar and she could use that to fill cold water and dip her sprained foot into.

She ate and tried to make sure she wouldn’t get drunk on the wine. Glad that it didn’t contain much alcohol. By the time she was finished, the light from the outside world started changing shades once the sun drifted off the earth’s horizon. The light shone on the old mannequins, making it eerily look like it has eyes staring at her. Her heart palpitated in fear so she took the old lantern and filled it with gas and lit it.

Fortunately, the moon shone brightly above the sky. As darkness slowly disappeared, a slight hint of hope surged through her. She couldn’t give up just yet.

Healing herself took the whole day and as the water got much cooler, she wrapped one of the old dusty blankets over her shoulder from the wardrobe. Certain that her sprain will get better by the morning.

She was much more contented and relaxed ever since she woke up nearly dying. She got up, removing her foot from the bucket and placed her upper body’s weight on the desk and closed her eyes.


	2. Stuck

She woke up to a revived her. Her sprain and bruises were better than yesterday. Yet, still, the gnawing feeling in her skin didn’t leave her.

Walking towards the cheval glass again to see her reflection. Now she had changed from a ghost to look like a mummy of the Ancient Egyptians with all these wrapped bandages.

With a lungful of air, she braced herself. Reaching behind her dress, she untied the knots and chose another dress among the wardrobe. Her selected piece was a dark gray long-sleeved dress. She preferred her boots because it made her feet feel comfortable and because it was hard-soled and had a tight grip on the floor. Once she was done brushing her black hair, she accessed the situation she was in again.

She tried pushing the bookshelf with all her might but it won’t budge. There was no other viable exit that she knew of except the way up. Removing the dirt and debris on the floor above the hole, she was determined to get the hell out of here. As it cleared, she stacked up some desks, tables and sturdy chests to climb back up.

After laborious work of stacking them, she only had to climb one step at a time.

She scoffed. After thinking that over, she took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together to summon her strength. Then she put her foot in the ledge she made and pushed herself up. Feeling her way cautiously, she got past the first three steps after a painstaking while later.

Three down, more to go.

The next steps were harder since the sight of her being above the ground scared her to no end. She didn’t want to fall again.

_Why am I doing this anyway?_

Her body had the will to live, and she knew she was acting merely on instinct.

By the fourth step, she took a short break and sat down. Her lungs almost burst from the constant labored breathing. The aches in her back and shoulders sharpened. She wondered if she would die here. She wondered what her sense of purpose was. If she were to survive and successfully get out of her prison, would she know what to do next? She threw those questions back to the dark recesses of her mind and rose to her feet again and continued her journey up.

_Am I just surviving for the sake of survival?_

The new question that popped up her head caused her to halt. She found that she had lost her focus. No longer was her mindset so strictly on one thing, instead of focusing only on climbing up, she drifted off to thoughts that arise in her. These terrible bouts of dread that make her have to count things and close her eyes for a few seconds until it gets away. The seconds got longer. The feeling got more persistent as the hours pass by, refusing to leave her, latching onto her bones and demanding attention.

And with a little strength from her anger, she pushed herself harder and harder until her hands reached the top. Finally, she was able to hook her arms over the edge of the opening and pulled herself out. Thank goodness she was light and had great arm muscles for her own sake, otherwise, she might as well kiss goodbye to her mortal life.

Once she got out, her mind whirled in exhaustion. For a long moment, she just laid down and breathed, thanking herself for being alive after what she had just been through.

_How did I end up here in the first place?_

The mystery still haunted her.

As the first full light of morning started to be absorbed in her eyes, she managed to sit up and glanced around. Behind her was a giant house. There was a window on the topmost floors from where she was now.

She had no idea how that could be possible, but everything she had seen appeared quite new yet very ancient at the same time. The patterns on the interior walls were also fresh and sparkling.

From the top of the cellar, she could see a forest around the area and a barn. Because she didn’t trust her balance, she crawled on all fours towards the safe ground. Maybe she could call for help from where she was, but then she witnessed the thing that no sane person could imagine and she dropped her jaw at the sight.

“Fuck!” she cursed, her eyes scanning. She followed the line where there was a trail of dried blood to a dead body.

Someone crucified the body of a dark-haired man in his late twenties on an oak tree. His nonexistent eyes kept staring at her, his body half-naked. Cringing at the fact that someone might have stabbed his eyes out. His tongue was cut off. There were struggles on his limbs, giving away the fact that he put up a good of a fight before his untimely death. It was brutal, whoever killed him might still be roaming around.

_But who?_

The woods hushed and as she tilted her head she wondered why it was quiet. Not even a tranquil bird song had.

_Why hadn’t I noticed it sooner?_

Odd, but not unusual and then she remembered the possibility of the killer within the vicinity.

She needed to get help.

Running towards the manor’s front door, she found that it was unfortunately locked.

“Hello? Anyone there?” she hit the wood hard with her knuckles but no one seemed to be arriving. Gripping the hem of her skirt in uncontrolled frustration, she screamed.

It reminded her of all the times she had tried to communicate her frustration and been ignored. The combination of pain and stress and knowing she would likely be ignored or none to even hear her out, it stripped her words from her and left her with no other way to communicate but screaming.

No idea what to do, she entered the nearest destination.

She flinched at the sight. The stench of death polluted the air inside the barn. There are dozens of dead cats hanging from the rafters and dead farm animals. The air thick with flies. Whoever did this was truly disturbed.

Covering her nose, she noticed someone hanging from the center rafter. This time, it was a woman in her early twenties. Hanging within reach, suspended by a rope bound to a nearby post.

At this distance, it was impossible to give an exact cause of death; however, the large pool of blood beneath her said otherwise. Nevertheless, her death was violent.

She saw an ax lodged on a log nearby. Someone had just recently started stacking firewood until their work was interrupted. Reaching for the sharp blade, she discontinued the minute she thought about the dagger in her boot.

The hilt was far more familiar to her and she preferred it other than an ax, whose handle was alien to the shape of her palms. She heard the sing of rasping metal as she drew her knife and slashed the rope that suspended the woman.

With the rope cut, the body fell to the ground in the center of the barn. Multiple stab wounds seemed to be the cause of death. It was such a shame. The girl was actually pretty, despite the large cut on her cheekbone. Somehow, a coil of insecurity coiled in her belly. The dead woman had the right curves in her body and her hair looked like it was spun of gold.

There was nothing she could have done for her, except for silent prayer. Afterward, she began to search the body for something useful. Inside her pocket was a silver key. With a smile tugging her lips, she shoved it down her pocket and went on her way.

Arriving at the Manor’s front door, she tried to use the key to unlock it. Except, it didn’t fit at all. The keyhole was bigger than what she had.

_Useless._

But still, the key seemed important so she kept it with her. She had to look for the back door in order to gain entry to the house.

She stood in the entrance hallway. It was well decorated and gave off a sense of luxury and wealth. To the west was the front door and the hallway continued to the east ending at the master staircase. The dust hasn’t settled much too.

The only thing that broke the illusion that everything was fine was the large smear of blood on the floor, starting in the middle and trailing to the north.

“Hello?” she called. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.

She took a moment to assess the situation. Something off about it all. But there could be a reasonable explanation as to why the manor was empty as it should be. Anyone who would have survived, servants or members of the family alike must have fled.

She knew better than to follow the blood so she went for the great hall where a large dining table with five plates laid out. Scraps of food sit rotting on plates have not been cleared away. Flies have formed a feast in it and the stench was overwhelming.

It seemed that whoever killed the family took them out of surprise, but the fact that nobody died in the great hall was highly suspicious.

She headed off to the butler's pantry where it contained all the miscellaneous food items, plates, bowls, mugs, and cutlery that the family would use on a daily basis.

_How do I get help around here?_

But she did find cheese and apples. She didn’t touch any of the bread, since mold started to appear on them, and the milk in the bottles were already rotten so she chugged some water she found on a glass jug that seemed uncontaminated. With her full stomach, she mentally prepared herself to fully explore the place.

She needed to get a glimpse of why this calamity happened and to find out who she was.

As she went along the length of the first-floor hallway, she felt as if she was being watched. She turned sideways and saw painted portraits of the family who owned the estate from past generations. When she reached the end, the portraits become more recent until they finished with the current family portrait of the spouses _–_ Malson and Aislin Cresswell _–_ with their children.

She can see now that the crucified body she found outside the eldest son. He was quite handsome, carrying the air of regal confidence like his father and that the body hung on the barn’s rafter among the cats was the middle child.

Her eyes flitted towards the youngest child and did a double-take. She turned around to find a small mirror on the credenza and stared at her features.

She looked a lot like her.

A rapid smile spread across her cheeks, showing teeth.

But there was something wrong. The girl in the painting had perfect gray eyes. It wasn't a trick of the light. She stared back at the mirror. She had two colors. Green on the left and a gray on the right, whereas the portrait, only revealed that the youngest Cresswell child only had one eye color.

The painter would be offending the family if he didn't paint his subjects correctly. But perhaps, the family asked him not to color her eyes differently. Or maybe he lacked gray paint at his disposal. After all, people prefer not to show their flaws.

But it was inescapable. She was her.

Her family was murdered and she was the only surviving member. Her heart pummeled in anguish and sorrow. She had to look for help first and mourn later.

She vaulted back where she came from and ascended the grand staircase to the next floor. Another long hallway extended to the east, a balcony on the south and there are doors to the north and west. She went to investigate the nearest room.

The bedroom was devoid of any color. Against one wall was shelved with a wide range of strange tools and other weird occult artifacts. Another wall has an old desk pushed against it and opposite it was a small bed. Multiple books of about strange creatures and sightings were scattered across the floor. The bed was unmade but was no sign of foul play here.

An unfinished letter sat on the floor in the middle of the mess. 

> Sweetheart of mine,
> 
> Father, in his deathbed, and completely out of his mind, hastily fired all of the servants again, except for one. I fear I have to do the errands at the estate while Mother has to prepare for his entombing. Whereas my sister and the youngest maid was tasked to merely look after the minimal chores and our disappointment. Expect me to have dinner at your home this coming solstice...

_Whatever disappointment did he mean?_

She laid the note back down and saw an eyepatch. It might prove to be useful. For one, she needed to be able to roam around in the dark and see an immediate threat. Eyepatches were excellent devices to prepare one’s eyes to adjust in the darkness. There might be more empty rooms in this huge manor and if she waited for her eyes to adjust, the danger would have struck her out.

She put it over her left eye and headed out. At first, she lost her balance as she adjusted to her limited vision. She learned to manage within a few steps. She reached another room whose fancy double doors bear golden knuckles and roses and thorns carved into its wood.

The stench of death kicked her in the face. She attempted to stop her gag reflex for the foul air had filled the master bedroom. With an arm over her nose, she saw another dead body in the center. It was a four-post canopy bed where Malson Cresswell lied, cold and decaying.

He looked as though he had been deceased for a few days. His pallor was a sickly green and his skin was covered with open sores. There was no other indication of how he died, so she only assumed that it was from this strange illness. His face was fixed with an expression of sheer terror. She wondered what he saw before he died.

On the bedside table next to Malson's body was a small piece of paper. It was a small note. The writing was in an unsteady hand, as though whoever wrote it had great difficulty in doing so.

> To whoever finds this, then it is too late for me.
> 
> The illness has completed its corruption with my flesh as it twisted and warped me.
> 
> I pray that the gods would forgive me for my terrible crime.

These were Malson’s last words—her father’s last words. And it wasn’t about how he loved his family. It was about his guilt and penance. Whatever crime he did, he feared the judgment upon the gates of heaven more than leaving his family behind.

Her attention shifted to the small opened door, beckoning her inside. She did and dreadfully regretted it.

The bathroom was filthy and covered with vomit. It was another kind of horror. There was a spray of blood on the wall where it looked like someone has smashed the mirror with their bare hands. On the floor sat a mirror shard, whoever did this just earned themselves seriously bad luck.

She found herself squeamish. Unable to contain from spilling her own meal, she ran outside to get some fresh air.

Fresh pine scent greeted her this time, and she reveled in it. The first-floor balcony offered marvelous views over the southern half of the estate. The guard rail that prevented anyone from accidentally stumbling to their death was damaged.

It was then that she knew, somebody fell from here.

Obviously, it was her.

Just below was the underground cellar where she landed. It looked like she was running away from her attacker and fell off. Or she might have been pushed.

The blood on her clothes could have been from her family or the killer. She could have tried to save them and failed. But still, the memory was lost on her. Nothing she saw so far had triggered it.

As she attempted to regain her bearings, that was when she became aware of her current situation. She guessed if she were going to die here, at least she would die with her stomach full and body hydrated.

With her knife ready in hand, she had come to a decision that she had to face the danger on her own. As the surviving family member, she had to take revenge for her dead family.

_I will have my revenge._

She climbed back down the staircase and followed the streak of blood into the trophy room. The smell of chemicals wafted through her nose this time. She stared in horror at the taxidermy animal heads mounted on the wall and preserved rugs of bears and dears on the floor.

That was when she noticed there was someone sitting against the wall and her stomach recoiled. It's the body of Aislin Cresswell. Someone has plunged a mirror shard into her chest. It was small but plunged deeply. She was amazed her mother made it all the way from the entranceway to here. Unless she was dragged by her killer.

Everyone else was dead. She had no one left. Perhaps some relatives far away.

Storming through the front door, she ran towards the estate’s front gate.

New plan. Call for help from a nearby town.

The decorative wrought iron gate was uninviting. Not a moment to lose, she swung the gate open, still wheezing from her run. Her jaw dropped at the sight. Just straight ahead was a winding road and miles thick of the pine tree forest. The sun above the summit of a mountain was too far away.

She came to realize she was in the middle of nowhere. The manor was located remote from society.

_I couldn’t leave at all. Not without getting lost and die out in the cold._

The horses in the stables were dead. She was stuck here with her dead family with nowhere to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 2! Hope you guys find the setting unsettlingly good! Btw, the children of the manor have names, but since the husband and wife are crazy, they named their kids with names that lack any vowels. Do you guys still want me to include their names? Would you find it annoying? I'm talking like Crwyx and Vjysyl. That kind of names, but I can provide a pronunciation guide. If it's a hassle, I can omit them.


	3. Confined

In a blind panic, she dashed. Running around for what seemed like hours, and when exhaustion caved in, she slowed down and stopped, trying to catch her breath. When she caught on, she cussed. Looking down at the dull, dark walls, she blinked, slowly, trying to connect some sort of feeling to the sight, but the numbness hung around her like a heavy cloud.

She counted her breath. One. Two. Three. Made sure her intake was lung and deep. Four. Five. Six. She tried to get her mind off of things as a faint sheen of perspiration blankets her being.

Once she counted until 20, she has fully eased herself of her hysteria. It wouldn’t do her good if she ought to wreak havoc in the manor. She sighed, lying down on the soft surface of the mattress, opting to wait out the storm of emotions within her.

She clutched the knife in her chest, ready to spring into action for any sign of aggressors.

When she finally took notice of her surrounding, she realized she was in what must have been her bedroom. It was untidy, with frilly laces and pink curtains and bedsheets.

There was no familiarity in it or whatsoever.

_Shouldn't this be the place where I had most of my memories? Why hasn’t it sparked me into reminiscing?_

“Why can’t I remember anything at all?” she muttered flatly, already exhausted by the prospect.

The room was spacious enough for just one person. It was suspiciously so.

_Had I been the spoiled child?_

When she asked these questions, she could feel eyes on her. The dolls and other toys on the bedside cabinet seemed to taunt her. As if the toys knew she was a stranger and began mocking her.

Anger boiled inside of her.

“Stop looking at me!” she screamed and turned the cabinet over. The porcelain ones shattered, and the wooden ones broke. She seemed contented to let her grief and fury all out in the empty space.

Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the devil himself laughing.

_Or was it someone crying?_

There was a faint sound coming from outside. She strained her ears to listen.

“Please... Please... somebody let me go.”

She definitely heard someone crying in an empty corridor. She tracked the sound and heard it leaking inside the trophy room. Entering the area with stealth, she eyed the small cupboard at the far corner. The sound stopped, but she was certain it came from there.

She slowly pulled the brass knuckles and found it locked. Another flash of anger threatened to spill over her. The thought of using an ax to open it became apparent in her vision. It only subsided when she saw the keyhole.

It was small, like the silver key she got from her beloved sister’s corpse.

She drew in a lungful of air, despite the scent of chemicals and decaying animals and the dried blood that oozed out her mother’s body. She fished for the key inside her pocket and measured it. The key was a perfect fit, and she could feel excitement replace every other negative fear in her system. She swallowed a lump that rose to her throat. Then, with a sigh and a rueful shake of her head, she held onto her knife tighter and was ready. For whatever creature was locked in.

The doors of the cupboard ended up groaning and a mop of light brown hair whipped towards her.

“Oh,” she said, finding a maid stuck inside like a pickle in a jar.

_Did my sister lock her in here?_

The maid instantly saw she was held at knifepoint and cried. “Please don’t hurt me, Miss... Don’t hurt me.” She must have been shaken to her core.

She had no idea why the maid would be so frightened upon seeing her, but she tried to convey a promise that she wouldn’t hurt her through her tone. She even sheathed the knife again, out of sight.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” She cracked a small smile, noticing that the girl had a beauty mark on her neck, near the collarbones. “You’re safe here. I won’t hurt you."

The maid’s chest began to rise and fall. Her eyes darted and swallowed a large lump in her throat and then, curiously, she just sat there and looked at her. She didn't speak. She didn't gibber. She didn’t even try to leave her cage. She was afraid, yes, but not even close to hysteria. No danger of screaming or any kind of fit. That was all very good. There was a chance she didn’t know people had died out there.

“Talk to me. I want to help.”

She got nothing from the maid except the sniveling and the shuddering. Her face covered with soot. The light brown haired girl curled herself into a ball and tightened her fists around her arm as if it was an effective barrier against anyone.

_How long was she cooped up, crouching without any chance to stretch her body?_

“No one will hurt you here, I assure you.”

She didn't answer, still a bit distrusting.

“Poor dearie, what name do you go by again?”

Her gaze met the girl’s at the closest of proximity and her beautiful, round, blue eyes glittered with such magnificent innocence.

Finally, she spoke. “Tanya, Miss...”

The maid looked so fragile. Her nails short, but clean. There were bite marks all over her it though. Tanya had a nasty habit and she wanted to playfully reprimand her for it.

Her heart leaped in her chest. This was the first time her mind stopped dwelling about her lost memory and the frustration of her situation. Tanya was a great diversion.

“What are you still doing in there?” she seized the maid’s shoulders and pulled. “You may come out.”

Tanya squealed by the sheer strength that forced her out of her cage. She seemed mostly disaffected by the maid’s weight for she was lighter than a pack of hay. It even made her bark out a giggle, seeing the surprise on Tanya’s face.

She had no idea what was going through her mind that made her do it, but she should have known better than to have moved an injured person. Had events unfolded otherwise, she could have easily been responsible for the worsening, or even death, of some poor girl.

_A hero I am surely not._

Yet, she wanted to keep appearances. She helped the maid stand on her feet and brushed away the dust and cobwebs on her clothing. An ounce of exhilaration stirred in her when her hand hovered on the girl’s supple chest. A desire to touch her overwhelmed her. All she wanted to do was to touch her, caress her, kiss her, but she tried to reel herself in and just opted to remove the soot on the maid’s cheek.

The girl was even softer to the touch. She could not be more perfect than that.

Tanya flustered at the gesture, and it brought a bigger smile to grace her lips. Tanya smelled divine. Her scent was inviting and musky. The girl was the only one alive among the sea of dead people.

_I don’t know how long I can contain myself._

Her chest rose tumultuously in ardor. An image came into her mind with an image of her own self, kissing Tanya passionately, her fingers outlining the measly maid’s shape and instantly her cheeks burned ferociously.

She cleared her throat as if to halt her deprave thoughts from continuing. It gave her the opposite effect, Tanya now stared up at her, waiting for her to speak.

“How on earth were you confined in there?” she asked, sweetly. She cannot wait to seduce the maid and find themselves in a passionate embrace.

“My lady, your sister did—” she began but froze. By then she had seen the dead body sitting on the chair. The late Aislin Cresswell’s hollowed eyes stared at them as if she was warning them from beyond the grave.

Tanya stood there, not knowing what to do. Her jaw hung open as she became wary of her lady.

_I was unarmed, obviously. But what is the correct measure of hysteria in finding the Lady of the House died with the weapon still on her body?_

“Yes, my poor mother is dead,” she said, “and so would us if we cannot help it.”

Against her better judgment, she knew she sounded apathetic. It boggled the mind how one can so easily act so horrendously when confronted with a disaster.

Tanya all could not seem to decide by her lady’s indifference and her mistress; untimely demise. Although she did flinch. She was circling away from the corpse and her lady, unable to look where she was heading. She bumped into the edge of a cabinet where she froze again and stood backed up against it.

She let out an amused chuckle. The maid acted rather cute. “Tanya dear, you are quite clumsy. What seems to be the matter?”

Tanya looked up at her, disturbed. She parted her lips as if she wanted to ask a question. A bit hesitant, but she reached for the eyepatch on her face and looked underneath it.

She stared the maid down with her two-colored eyes and ravishing smile. That was the time Tanya screamed and stormed out of her sight.

* * *

**_This was_** not the first time, she felt rejected. Rejection seemed to have been constant in her life before all this.

_How can I tell?_

The feeling felt like home. Like it was relentless. With a pout, however, she attempted not to let it get to her. She needed to find some maps. The girl could warm up to her by the time she found a way to leave.

_Tanya’s mine. She and I were all that was left alive. We belonged to one another. We need to stay together._

It took her a while before she found the library. The four walls are covered with bookshelves full of books. The air has a slight leathery smell to it, probably from the covers of the obscure old tomes.

She grabbed a few drawn parchments and a book of locations to figure out where the manor was located first. Though it would be easier if the maid would merely tell her. Tanya would be able to help her accomplish it faster. But try as she might coo her out, the maid will fumble through and mouse her way to nooks and crannies like her lady was a hungry cat.

It was true in a way. She had given the maid predatory glances ever since. But it was because she was attracted to poor Tanya. Tanya was a sight. Sure, her lips weren’t red, her hands were calloused and her hair was frizzled, but the girl had striking blue eyes and soft inviting flesh.

_Tanya is all I have left. Tanya is mine._

But the maid still did not know that. Surely, she would have seen the other dead bodies and realized how futile it is to leave out there in the forest, with no food or water, or idea how to get away.

_I have lost my memory for goodness’ sake – I cannot sit here and try to interpret the maid’s actions when I cannot even remember anything about my life._

The girl would have left by now if she was determined so, but she can sense the girl’s presence in the manor. Her footsteps were all she could focus on. As long as Tanya will not leave her alone, try to escape this hell without her, she was more than contented to leave the maid alone and give her some space to process all this.

She laid herself down on a comfortable chair, relishing the feel of its leather upholstery in a small room designed for reading. There were a huge mahogany desk and a fireplace too. With a glass of diluted wine in hand, she drank while she read.

Hours had gone and she let out a groan. She had no luck at all. The estate wasn't in any of the maps she found. It was too broad. Like a map of the whole country and other places, even the blueprint of the manor, but no address.

Her attention shifted to the fireplace. Sitting on the desk was a leather-bound book. It was her sister’s diary

Feeling a little bit snoopy to read the diary of her dead sister, she threw the book was holding onto, with no regard for it at all and flipped through the pages of the diary. She frowned when she saw most of its pages were torn, drawn over or were spilled by wet ink.

There were only a few lines left readable. Her older sister had neat handwriting and that was all there is to it. A certain elegance, but not girly at all.

> 31st of August, year 1885
> 
> She was mentally ill, Father would say. He wanted to put the young one to a mental institution in a private home staffed by two nuns and two guards. Away from the prying and gossiping public eye and from the minds of ours. Ever since he caught her one day, committing an act of blasphemy with a scullery maid.
> 
> Though Mother, in her good conscience, could not let her be locked into a windowless brick cell containing only a bedroll, chamber pot, and leg iron meant to attach her to the wall. Yet, there were social pressures abound. It worked hard on us, especially Father. He eventually secluded her to the disappointment room. We still hid her from the public eye.
> 
> 3rd of September, year 1885
> 
> There was a doctor that came today. He even prescribed lobotomy, but Mother would not hear it, for she had heard of acquaintance’s daughter who had her brain probed and cut by licensed doctors. The daughter had no longer suffering from the behavioral problems of a young woman in her twenties but reduced to the mental capacity of a toddler.
> 
> 14th of March, year 1886
> 
> As she grew, it proved to be difficult to take care of her, or even restrain her. She was no different from the barn animals we kept. She even had fewer privilege than our household cats. Father fired the whole household, except for two, a mother and child who had no place else to go, and used everything in his power to not let them wag their tongues for there will be great consequences if they do. He hired a new batch and we hid her from them.
> 
> Father made sure that no curious wandering or drunk servants would stumble upon the locked doors that contained the secrecy of our family’s ruin. Father did wonders. I was not able to believe how he erased the girl’s existence at all. Nothing from the papers, the portraits, neither the memories of the people who came over.
> 
> 15th of March, year 1886
> 
> There was one we trusted, for the reason that Mother and Father were occupied most of the time. Occasionally, they were out of the manor to visit the town. It requires two people to take care of this girl. Despite her scrawny figure, and pale skin, she was as brusque as a horse. And my dear brother and sister cared none. I was the only one.
> 
> We told Mrs. Leitner. She was the matron of the housework, the head maid, and she had been there before the ‘disappointment’, as they put it, even lost her sanity.
> 
> 22nd of November, year 1905
> 
> Oh how terrible! Mrs. Leitner has departed. Father gave her a good resting place, buried in our land. Her daughter had nowhere to go, so the girl remained employed to us. With no one else, deserving of our secret, Father and Mother confided with Mrs. Leitner's daughter. Sworn to secrecy, Tanya Leitner accepted.

As soon as she finished reading whatever was available in her sister’s diary, she contemplated.

Then a memory shot through her mind’s eye.

She thought back over the short years of her life. Her older sister had taught her how to ride a pony. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the older girl’s steadying hand on the small of her back, and the warm glow the new achievement had given her. She could picture her older sister laughing eyes as she would slip some little sweetmeat into her small hand at bedtime. She remembered the comforting warmth of her sister’s arms around her as they would snuggle together in front of the fire on winter evenings with cups of warm apple cider.

There were darker memories, too. She could see her father’s face, twisted in a fury that she couldn’t understand, and feel the pain of the kicks. Her older sister had been there, too. She had always been there. She could almost hear her voice shouting, and see her thrusting herself between them, taking the blows for her.

There had been quiet times afterward, too, when her older sister would have to go to bed for a while, and she would wash her bruises for her. Sometimes she would even crawl into bed with her. That had usually made her older sister cry, although she had understood that those were good tears.

She cried with joy. Her memories were coming. She rejoiced at the fact that she had now remembered who she was. Although there were still missing pieces, memories are memories all the same. She was contented that she had recalled a few.

_My life has a sense of purpose after all._

Then a thought came to her. She was not sure if it was a good idea, but she was certain that it would not hurt to try. She dropped the diary back to the desk and headed outside.


	4. Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright since two people asked me to include their children's names, I will provide pronunciation guides.  
> Tylwyth - Tuh-leuwth (Welsh)  
> Crwyx - Kwa (French)  
> Vjysyl - Vee-jai-seal (Indian) I'm not entirely sure, all I know is it's a rare name  
> Lyzzy – Lizzie (English)

She caught an injured rabbit when she was exploring the grounds when. Her stomach had been growling, and she wondered if she can get Tanya to cook the rabbit for her. Given how unlikely the situation was, she opted to eat whatever raw vegetable or fruit she can find in the garden.

Her family’s estate was a vast land. It will take her more days to explore some more, but she halted when she found what appeared to be a homemade gravestone engraved with the drawing of the family emblem.

_This must be Mrs. Leitner’s grave. I must pay respect to her._

She brought her knees down to the earth to pray, yet as she kneeled, she had no idea what to impart or how to talk to the dead.

And a memory sprang in her head. She did not sound like the most normal of girls in their late teens at all. And in truth she probably wasn't, nor was she still. Growing up, normal was a concept she always had a little difficulty with, for as far as she was concerned everyone was their own self and that was the most normal thing they could be. It took her a long time to understand that her social difficulties and reclusive tendencies were not what was usually considered normal.

That was when she saw fancied she saw, a face staring at her from the house's attic. When she turned around to look at the small window on top of the house, the light reflected on the glass glared at her, urging her to come to it.

Her body hairs rose, fearing it could be a ghost, but she remembered, that she wasn’t the only person alive in the house anymore. Tanya was still the manor, scuffling around. She must have climbed the attic.

_But was there an attic to begin with?_

She was certain this area of the house was not listed in the blueprints. If it were, she would have found it.

_Perhaps it was simply poor Tanya spying on me?_

She sprang to her feet and dashed to the door. Vaulting upstairs and found the hidden room on the top floor. Its entrance was blocked off by a large armoire. Nevertheless, the marks on the floor indicated that it had been recently pushed there. She was getting more and more exasperated by the second. She shifted from foot to foot, weighing her options.

Holding back a frustrated scream, she reluctantly began to place her palms on the armoire’s flat side. With a strange ounce of strength, she managed to push the armoire out of the way, only to find a locked door.

White-hot fire coursed through her veins. She had it enough with all these locked doors. She was done being treated like a pig in a pen or a bird in a cage.

“Why. Won’t. You. Open?” she lunged forward and slammed her shoulder against the door in a desperate attempt to bust it.

With a huff, she stormed out, her shoes stomping against the concrete. Ascending the stairs, and headed to the barn and grab the ax.

She grumbled, shifting and patting the haft of her weapon as she ran back towards the attic door.

_I can just cut them down to size, and none of this fancy door nonsense._

She raised the weapon and struck. Her ears met the sound of the wooden door cracking under the sharp metal. Her heart was pounding with excitement now as the gap became bigger. With a grunt, a metallic clink sounded when she gave another hard swing towards the door’s knuckles. At last, the door opened.

The warm golden light from the window shone over the raised floral carvings to reveal a dead girl – the youngest Cresswell with a slit throat.

She couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but no words came; she gasped incredulously and leaned into the girl’s solid but cold body.

_Had I been a ghost this whole time?_

No. That was nearly impossible. In a mere instant, she felt like a stranger again. How can they bear the same face?

_Is she an imposter?_

No, very unlikely. She brought her hands on her knees and looked at the corpse warily. The faces were exactly the same. Dread and uncertainty buried deep within her chest, and she felt a pang. She quickly pushed that back and caught the body’s eyes with her own.

This girl both had gray eyes, as is depicted in the family portrait. She was the youngest Cresswell.

_Then who am I?_

A shot of pain surged through her blood, beating in her heart. Time painfully skidded to a halt, and every motion seemed to unfold in slow motion, frame by frame, millisecond by millisecond. Though her brain was screaming frantically for her to act, she found herself frozen in place, unable to even blink.

Then the missing pieces came.

* * *

**_The leg_** iron cast was broken. She had finally set her foot free after numerously wearing it out with water, trying to make the metal brittle enough to smash against the stone.

And it did work.

There was an angry red line around the ankle of her foot, and it felt good that her foot was free of restrains. Her muscles started tensing. She needed a release of this. With a few stretches here and there and a few satisfying cracks, she then waited for her meal, hiding at the edge of the room so that the minute the door opens, she would attack at them from behind.

Then the poor girl came. Her little sister, Tylwyth Cresswell. The perfect twin. The one born without physical defects and mental illnesses. She had not expected that she would be the one to bring her meal. Thinning her lips in a neutral expression, she began to question her plan. But it was already set in motion. Any hesitation could prevent her from victory.

For her revenge, her little sister will do.

She had longed for this day.

“Lyzzy?” she called, unaware of the danger lurking behind her.

A short pause – then her twin turned her around, and that was when she saw her older twin sprang at her!

The youngest Cresswell did not even have time to cry out before she twisted her neck, snapping it. She caught the slumping body as it fell and propped it back against the wall. A moment’s pang bloomed in her chest as she looked down at the blankly-staring gray eyes.

There was a time when she loved her. Like all sisters do. But the love faded as her little sister grew spoiled and the family nitpicking every mistake in her, comparing her with her perfect twin. Calling her a blasphemy for her demon sired eyes and her apparent attraction when she was caught kissing the scullery maid in the lips.

She instantly took Tylwyth’s boots and headed off outside, locking the dead girl inside the cellar. Headfirst towards the master’s bedroom, and found that her father’s disease has beaten her first. Too late for revenge, she gritted her teeth, to the point that it hurt. Her eyes still squeezed tight, she searched around for a weapon. Her mother should be next to go.

Her father seemed to have vomited in the bathroom and broke the mirror in the process. No one was brave enough to clean it so far. A mirror shared twinkled at her, and a smile grew on her lips. She held onto it carefully and went for her next prey.

Her mother proved to be difficult.

She had to chase the old woman around, but it was no rush. She enjoyed the hunt. The same way her father used to teach her how to catch animals in the wild when she was younger—when her demon eyes were still passable. And yet they drew the line at her mental illness.

Her parents were crazy. Proven by the fact of how they named their children. Taking the inspiration of various words from other foreign sounding culture, they had set their children up for a lifetime of exasperation as they were constantly forced to spell it out to friends, teachers, colleagues, and semi-literate representatives of peasants.

The woman who gave birth to her breathed heavily with the shard lodged on her breast. She dragged her mother, still clinging onto her life, towards the trophy room for an idea formed in her head. She was always fond of her mother. Her mother had been kind to her, yet she still enabled whatever horror her husband did to their child.

She wanted to preserve her so she put her up the chair and searched the drawers for those chemicals.

“Why...” she asked, prolonging it. Perhaps she had difficulty in breathing.

There was a knife right behind her on the desk, but her mother had not seen it, and it wouldn't have helped her anyway. Not with her state.

“Because you let all the horror happen. You did not stop them.”

But her task was forced to end. Her brother stepped into the room, sweat and hay clung onto his skin. He had just come back from feeding the cattle and horses and stumbled upon the blood and followed its trail.

She ticked her tongue. Killing and torturing him would please her immensely. She loathed him as much as he treated her like garbage. She went for the hunting knife on the desk and plunged.

Crwyx was taken completely by surprise, although he attempted to avoid her, which was unwise. She purposely aimed for the stomach, but with his miscalculations and her inability to cease her movement, he got stabbed in the lungs. The sharp blade severed him. He let out a guttural cry and she did not pull it back out. It was not his time for demise yet. She wanted him to stay alive, a little bit longer because his murder would not be sentimental at all if it was as swift as she did her twin.

Her brother’s death should be different and creative. Not a repetitive design. And besides, while the man had done something incredibly stupid, she did not think she can send him off without any malice.

Crwyx was the oldest, tall but thin so she was able to drag him out the back door. No blood had spurted out of him yet. A small cart that her brother used to deliver hay to places crossed her vision.

She gave him a light shove. "Get in."

Her brother paced into the cart in his haste to obey, and, clinging onto the hope that he would be saved, but the pain that took over him made him nearly tumble. She shot out a hand and narrowly saved him from cracking his skull against the wooden side of the cart or letting the knife lodge in within him deeper.

She let go again with a snort of impatience. "Sit down, back against the wood."

Really, she did not think that this once fearful brother of hers would pose any threat to her anymore, but no one would survive this long by being complacent. A harsh lesson brought to her by her reality. She took a coil of rope and bound her brother’s legs. Then, pushing the wide-eyed man firmly back against the slotted wooden wall of the cart, she tied him securely to it and wheeled him to a nearby tree.

Then she set it down and leaned back against a tree trunk, wrapping him tightly around the trunk with the excess rope. Her brother’s dark eyes looked at her for a moment.

“God is watching...” came his pitiful words.

"Shut up!" her furious yell brought the back of her hand viciously across her brother’s mouth.

By the time she did it again, her brother was almost hysterical with fear. "You would not dare," he sobbed out his bloodied mouth. "You would not dare, Lyzzy!"

"You have defiled me at nights when everyone else is asleep. You have disgraced me! And now you have the gall, the audacity to tell me God is watching!" Her eyes darted around until they came to rest on an on the tree. With one hard jerk, she wrenched off a branch, and quickly stripped off the smaller twigs until she held a long switch; it was as thin and supple as a steel rod.

She snatched at her brother’s forearm then began to strike. Temper drove her on, as well as his screams. She had been able to take control of the situation without pounding him to a pulp. She had plans for him after all. No use to have fun when the victim was dead. Her two-colored eyes coldly surveyed her handiwork.

Even in the dim light, she could see the livid stripes that marked the man’s naked torso and sides. Her brother’s face was covered with blood. He stood there, twitching and choking with sobs.

She was not done with him. She did not feel pleased with her revenge yet. Not yet. She took a large stone and grabbed a few rusty nails on the ground.

“Since you are so devoted to your god, why not be send off the way he did?”

“No,” he croaked as it dawned on him what it meant. He cried in pain and terror, but she still nailed him. “NOOO! Rot in hell Lyzzy!”

With a snarl, she plucked the knife out of him and watched as his liquid life gushed out of his wound. The hunting knife gave her pleasure. She never knew its blade created multiple slashes in one stroke – beautiful, sick, and good. She wiped her knife clean and sheathed it.

Looking up back at him, she realized that he was already dead, and she cannot believe that it ended so soon.

She stopped and listened for a moment. All was silent.

Then, a sickening pain shot through her back. Darkness threatened to swallow her as a short knife arced her flesh in a shallow wound.

Her older sister came, armed and took her by surprise. Vjysyl attempted to bind her with her own coil of rope.

They exchanged blows for a while and she sprung as the victor. She defeated her older sister by sheer enthusiasm. While Vjysyl was reluctant to hurt her, she was not averse to pain. She will fight, until her last breath.

Due to aggression, she grabbed her sister’s throat, pressing her thumb and fingers into each of her carotid arteries, cutting off the oxygen to her brain without crushing her windpipe.

In return, Vjysyl grabbed her wrist with both hands but there was nothing she could do to dislodge her adrenaline-induced strength. Her older sister kicked at her with her feet.

She struggled a bit more but then became feeble. Her eyes were wide and full of fright until finally, they began to dim. Her legs sagged. Her hands dropped to her sides. Her eyes were still open, with only the smallest flickers of light inside them, and then finally they rolled up and fluttered and fell closed.

When she noticed that her sister was still breathing, a smile tugged on her lips.

Her sister was merely unconscious. She might have learned the technique where you can cut off oxygen to the brain without killing.

Using the new rope, she tied her older sister and brought her to the barn, a new idea forming in her head. She wanted the next death to be special, so she did the preparations before her sister woke. And when she did, she was ready.

Vjysyl’s eyes fluttered open to see a noose around her neck and that it was connected to the rafter above. A strangled cry escaped her lips, it was very fitting but there was no other thing she could do.

“Why are you doing this, Lyzzy?” she asked.

The answer was easy, yet she found herself unable to speak freely. She truly cared for her older sister. If it weren’t for the fact that the woman literally and metaphorically backstabbed her, she would have spared her. Vjysyl was not like their mother, who allowed the horrors to happen. Vjysyl fought for her but lost so she had to do whatever she must unwillingly.

She found herself unable to express how betrayed she felt. Whatever happened to her older sister for her to attack her like that?

With a heaving chest and a heavy heart, she spoke. “Ever since the lot of you locked me, there was a fog in my head. Sometimes, I wished I was dead. I cannot even lick my lips without tasting blood and sweat. It upsets me. Everything upsets me. When I would scream my discomfort, you would merely gag me. With a dirty cloth to boot! But I like you, dear sister. I liked you so much. You were the one kind to me. You did not abuse me when I was hidden in the attic. You fed me, you bathed me, you read to me, and you continued to bring me some sweetmeats. Which is exactly why you have hurt me when you attacked me.”

Vjysyl did not back down from her but at last some fear came into her eyes. “Forgive me, Lyzzy. But I do what I must. I know the family had been careless regarding your delicate nature, but it was not right of you to punish them like so.”

She gazed at her blank and beautiful face with real pain in her heart.

It did not have to be like this. It really should not have.

But it was and there was nothing she could do about it.

She opened her mouth, but no words came; she gasped softly and leaned into her sister’s warmth for the last farewell. “I love you, Vee.” She said as she pulled the rope that sent her sister’s body upward. 

Vjysyl made a gagging sound as she wobbled about and struggled and attempted to pull and loosen the noose around her neck, but the process and gravity only strangled her even harder.

Her older sister’s breath was gasping in and out while she was panting from the exertions of maintaining her grip on the rope and finally her sister was beginning to fade. Her legs in their white stockings were trembling and jerking but they had stopped kicking. Her face was turning blue and exhaled her final breath.

She immediately tied the rope into a knot on a near post and craned her neck upward to admire her work.

Her exhilaration at seeing sister’s corpse aroused extraordinarily emotions in her. The head was slightly tilted to the right, the mouth open as if in pain, a tormented expression on the face. The palms are bloody. More blood streams from the nose, mouth and gaping wounds. The depiction of suffering was over-realistic.

Then as time went on her smile faded. There was an unusual gnawing in her chest and she was almost confused at how irrationally angry she was with her older sister. She thought it was a special moment to kill her. That it would give her endless thrill and exhilaration, but now as she watched her sister’s corpse swinging on the air, it was the most heartbreaking sight of all.

Her older sister was dead.

She killed her.

Her legs weakened as her knees landed on the ground. Heart-wrenching guttural cries echoed throughout the barn.

“No, no... It can’t be.” She buried her face into her palms; tears endlessly flow out like shining rivulets.

She had not known that losing her will hurt. She had not known that it was totally permanent. For some reason, she thought that her sister will wake up again; just unconscious, but the ache for the thrill doomed her sister.

If she just had let go instantly, maybe her sister would still live.

_Yes, live and she will kill her instead._

There was nothing else she could do. She had to kill her.

_I had to kill her._

There was a loud meow from her side, bringing her out of her stupor. The sight of the cat spurned more of her rage. She reached for the cat and threw it against a wall. The feline hissed as it bounced off the wood. She shoved the cat again and growled and she was more tempted than she had ever been and ripped the first one to pieces.

She then went on another killing spree. All animals, from the cats to the cows and to the horses, she killed them all to vent her frustration. Her temper, which had always been short, became deadly. She had lost track of how many souls had fallen under the pitiless edge of her blade.

As time went on, the pain in her heart grew more intense. It ached and throbbed, and gave a fierce pinch every time she moved. She lost the will to live.

Now that vengeance was served, she had nothing to live for anymore. From the grounds, she saw the balcony and climbed up the same time the moon did.

As the shadows of the mountain got longer, expanding over the estate and the forest, she stared up at the bleary night sky and bid farewell. With a start, she dashed towards the railing, hitting it at the process and fell over to her death.

But when she fell, agony and pain on the impact, she realized she was still alive. Her body was too stubborn as her head. Her throbbing arm was keeping her from even dozing. She gritted her teeth against another wave of pain; tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back resolutely. She was determined to show the watching god that she could be strong when she needed to be.

_Do I need to be? Gods… I am so tired._

She almost wished she had hit her head fatally. At least then she could rest.

_Well, I guess I can be thankful I am not as banged up my brother_

She sighed to herself, gritting her teeth and closed her eyes against a wave of helpless anger. She hated being powerless – hated it with a passion.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Darkness settled in. 


	5. Aftermath

The force of the flashback thrust her backward, slamming into the wall. She blinked and paused. Her lips slightly parted. The revelation came to her like a crashing wave, upturning her boat, leaving her breathless under the strong currents. The sea god cared little for her life as she had cared little for everyone else.

She had not expected she was capable of a great feat. Like a spurt of adrenaline, she possessed unusual physical strength, speed, and agility, and she used them to great effect, but even she wasn’t immortal, and that had been proven last night.

But she still survived.

Her will to live came back, all because she lost her memories.

And now it has returned she was slightly losing it again. 

“My name is Lyzzy.” Her name felt foreign on her tongue, and somehow she blamed herself for remembering.

And now, she must suffer the aftermath.

A clap of resounding thunder resonated through the room.

“It was me! It was me all along! I’m The Disappointment!”

A collar caught her line of sight on the floor. She remembered how she hated it when her family forced her to wear it. She discarded it at once when she was able to.

A sinister smile swept her face. She pocketed it and went back to the master’s bedroom to stare at the monster that locked her in the cage. If it were not for the foul smell that decorated the body she could have mutilated the corpse of the man who put her here. 

She looked back to the vista beyond the windows. The rippled glass set in complicated iron fittings through which sunlight cast remarkable patterns during the day now it appeared quite different. She remembered in the moon glow, the iron ribbons appeared as fine as gossamer spider webs tracing ancient signs across the night sky.

There was nothing left for her here. Life turned meaningless once more. She turned around and stomped on each step. However, she could feel her initial burst of temper cooling as she walked. She was still angry, but the red mist no longer threatened to overwhelm her, and she could think more clearly. 

_ Why? _

Tanya.

Of course, not all hope was lost. Tanya was still out there. 

_ She was all that was left of me. _

That was her purpose in the world. She felt it deep in her bones. The only reason she had ever been born was to find Tanya. To be locked, fight her way out of her bounds, to survive all these years, losing her life’s purpose and will to live, and to commit suicide only for her body to refuse. It was all because she needed to keep Tanya and do anything she desired to her.

With her heart pumping like a vixen on a hunt, it did not take her too long to find Tanya’s whereabouts. The chestnut-haired maiden was at the kitchen, baking earthen oven bread and whole onions and cooling the boiling water she gathered. Poor Tanya must have been starving. 

When the maid noticed her presence in the room, she stayed on her heels, rooted on the spot.

Lyzzy mimicked her for a while and began to slink rapidly southwest, drawing her boot knife as she did. Exhilaration began to bloom within her as she circled her like a fox to a rabbit.

Then Tanya dashed. 

“Where do you think you are going?” She grabbed her by the collar and gave a low growl in her throat. 

The maid has gone pale, unable to wrench herself free. She lay limp, at the mercy of her and she was staring at her eyes.

She stood and placed a hand on her hip, smiling at her. “So do you know who I am?”

Tanya’s throat moved as she swallowed the lump in it. She had begun to tremble gently and her voice came out soft and full of fear. “You are the child they hid in the attic. You killed everyone here.”

“So should I suspect that my sister hid you in that cabinet to keep you away from me? Or have you been a naughty girl and she was simply punishing you?”

Tanya nodded, out of fear or duty, she was not sure.

“You know what I have learned over two days? I can kill a person but never the idea. Is it good or is it bad? It will always be there whether I like it or not.”

Tanya looked at her like she has gone crazy. She may have been.

“Is that why you were so terrified of me when you removed my eye patch?”

“Yes, miss, but please—”

“My family hid me from the rest of the world,” Lyzzy said, interrupting her. “Your masters abused me, and so did you. You took my freedom, my dignity and now I’m going to take you.”

This time Lyzzy waited to see what Tanya would say, but she only quivered in silence for a minute before dashing to the door. A little squeak had come out of her from the effort of forcing herself into action and the attempt was almost endearing. Lyzzy grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her back.

“No!” She screamed. “Nooooo!”

Lyzzy put her hand against her mouth, smothering her scream into a few terrified and muffled sobs. Her blue and fear-crazed eyes rolled up to hers, causing a smile to spread to Lyzzy’s lips.

She kept her palm pressed over those warm lips. “Your screaming is delightful, though I prefer a different sound. Come on, I will not kill you, though if you scream again, I will be forced to snap your neck. Do you understand? Blink if you understand.”

She blinked largely and nodded as well. 

_ Good. That was good. _

Lyzzy lowered her hand, keeping the other in her hair, and dared Tanya with her eyes to make a sound. Tanya whimpered a little, but that was all.

“Good girl,” she said.

Then Lyzzy threw her into the table. The impact was a cluttered mess. The table broke down. The pots and silverware clung as they fell onto the floor.

The poor maid’s head bounced off the edge of it, dazing her. Luckily no gash opened up, but the spectacle excited Lyzzy, though she had to resist. She was all alone in this household, and she needed a plaything to accompany her. Lyzzy wanted to make this last. After all, the maid was all that she has left.

She had learned a lesson from dealing with her older sister after all.

Tanya looked up and Lyzzy let her gaze at her for a moment, letting the sight feed her fear of what was going to happen to her. Then Lyzzy crouched and took another handful of her hair.

With a smile, Lyzzy was surprised at how much pleasure this had filled her. Fear had packed those beautiful blue eyes of hers and she was wincing in pain.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t do this.”

“Oh, I fear it is too late for that. You have nowhere to go. Your mother died years ago, leaving you to my family’s care. It would be rude and disrespectful of you if you would defy the laws of this household.”

Tanya’s expression quivered in dismay. A tiny sob came out of her. “Please. I beg you. Miss... Let me go. Just—”

Lyzzy leaned to her lips and stuck her tongue inside her tasty mouth.

It was mostly just to intimidate her and to release some of her more vulgar cravings. The maid groaned as if she was going to be sick, and Lyzzy tightened her hand in her hair to keep her still.

The inside of her mouth was warm and wet and Lyzzy pushed her tongue in deeper and bullied her own tongue all around that slick interior and deeper some more until Tanya gagged and twisted away.

Lyzzy smirked, still controlling her urges, as Tanya cried and coughed.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “You certainly are delicious, aren’t you?”

“Please stop,” she whimpered and began crying.

Somehow a great deal of thirst rose in her. She licked the salty tears on Tanya’s cheeks away. Seeing the girl cry made her remember how she was two days ago, and it was always the same thoughts that make it come back; memories of all of them. The day she was brought to the attic to be hidden and abused. It flashed for a fraction of a moment in her mind until they are translated into heavy feelings deep in her chest.

Lyzzy let go of her hair and rose. “Get up.”

The maid craned her head up with a wet face full of disgust, and perhaps a hint of defiance too because she didn’t get up. 

“Now,” Lyzzy said, baring her teeth. “Don’t make me let you starve. Hunger must have been gnawing at you. I bet you shall do everything I shall tell you.”

Tanya sniffed and slowly she rose, keeping as far away from me as possible, pressed back against the wall. The poor maid’s stomach grumbled and echoed around the room.

With an amused chuckle, Lyzzy went over to the earthen oven, pulled the baked goods and placed them all on the spare unbroken table of heavy mahogany that ran almost the entire length of the hall. Tanya’s eyes followed the scent of them as she stabbed the baked onion with her knife and handed it towards the maid. Tanya visibly flinched.

“Refuse this and you might not eat until tomorrow.”

Tanya glanced at her and she seemed to decide that the defiance was not worth going hungry. Tanya reached for the food and winced at the heat. She juggled the onion a few times before blowing on it and biting meekly.

Lyzzy smiled and watched as Tanya took a bite that almost consumed half of the entire onion. It was good that she had an appetite. It demonstrated a rather stable emotional state, which was curious.

Not a lot of people have an appetite if they were facing a mass murderer. But then again, Tanya was locked in the cabinet for days, and she was doing anything she can to survive.

Lyzzy watched the maid’s throat move and she was fascinated for a moment by the slenderness of her neck and the pale skin and the arteries that pumped blood at either side of her swallowing throat. 

She found herself broad grinning, though at no point had she intended such gesture. She turned her attention to Tanya’s hands. Like the rest of her, they were small and slim. She couldn’t help but wonder how those neat little paws would feel against her skin. Lyzzy smirked; the grin widened a moment later as she noticed how Tanya was shifting uncomfortably. The scrutiny had not gone unnoticed.

Once Tanya was done with her long-awaited meal, Lyzzy cornered her hastily.

Tanya’s breath was coming in shallow little gasps and she was backed into the corner like a frightened mouse. Lyzzy looked at her dress and hiked the skirt up to admire her pale skin and the nakedness of them. She touched Tanya’s thigh and stroked it gently, marveling at the warmth and softness. Maybe it was because Lyzzy had not been with someone other than the scullery maid she was caught with, and in this depravity, she was almost elated with anticipation.

“Hmm,” Lyzzy murmured, lifting her eyes to hers and slowly wrapping her arms around her waist. “Very nice, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.” With a wolfish smile, she reached out, caught the maid firmly by the scruff of her neck, and pulled her forward into a bruising kiss.

"Mmph!" Tanya uttered a squeak of horror and alarm. Knowing and fearing that this will be the kiss to lead all the way down there. 

Lyzzy could feel her squirming. She tightened her grip and wrapped her other arm around Tanya’s waist, pinning her slender body firmly against her own. Softly, she brushed her lips down the alabaster column of Tanya’s neck and suckled at the angry marks left by her teeth. She could already tell that they were going to bruise.

She was well aware she could completely crush Tanya in her grasp. No human being should have that much power over another. That was what she felt when she was the weaker one, but now that she found herself on the other side; she practically enjoyed it as much as her family did.

Tanya was gasping and whimpering. She tried to get free, but Lyzzy easily maintained her grip. "Please," she begged. "Please…"

"Please what?" Her icy glare froze Tanya’s whimpers in her throat. “Please touch me? Please don’t? Either way, my little darling I will still get what I want. Now hush, my sweet.”

Deliberately, Lyzzy kissed her again and then moved her face until her lips brushed against the shell of the girl’s ear. 

"You belong to me," she whispered. "You might as well get used to that. I own your service by inheriting you, Tanya. You’re mine. All of you." And she ducked her head down to bite down lightly on the side of the maid’s slender collarbone.

"No. No. Please." The maid struggled harder, bringing up her hands to push against Lyzzy’s head. With a soft grunt, Lyzzy swept Tanya’s legs out from under her and put her neatly on her back. 

The maid cried out. "Stop it! Please, stop it. I c–can’t! This is an abomination!"

A sudden flash of anger swept over her. She knew the muscles on her face constricted unsightly for Tanya quivered and refused to meet her eyes. She rose up to her knees and caught Tanya by the throat. The movement was terrifyingly swift. She glared down into the petrified blue eyes beneath her.

"I told you to be quiet," she snapped. "Society cannot judge us if we stay too far from their prying eyes. You, of all people, must know that considering you know of my family’s darkest of secrets. There’s no one else! We have nowhere to go! You and I, we are pretty much trapped in this desolate estate! Now you stop whimpering, and you stop fighting me. Understand?" 

Tanya squirmed again, and the fingers around her throat tightened like a vise. 

"Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes, mistress," the maid shut her mouth tightly and fell limp. Her body still quivered with sobs, but she was making a valiant effort to stay silent.

"You better," Lyzzy growled. "Disobey me again, and I will starve you." As quickly as it had flared, her anger cooled again.

A wild idea bloomed inside her and she fished for the collar in her pocket. The hands that had ruthlessly ended four lives and countless animals in showers of blood shook as they fastened a band of metal around a slender neck. 

Gazing down at Tanya, the girl looked tiny and helpless. The maid opened her eyes again. She didn’t say anything, but she lifted a pleading look to her mistress and whimpered.

“Forgive me my darling Tanya, but this is inevitable. No one’s coming for us here. You and I are alone. We have nothing but each other, and I have to make sure you won’t leave me.”

Lyzzy knew that Tanya hated the collar – the same way she hated the collar herself when she was the one wearing it, and she was already so miserable. Lyzzy clenched her jaw and took a steadying breath. 

She lowered herself onto the shivering girl and resumed her interrupted work. She found herself enjoying Tanya’s reactions enough to keep going. The maid was incredibly responsive as her hands traveled all over her form. And all the while, those huge green eyes stared up at her, full of a mixture of fear and confusion and pleasure that Lyzzy somehow found endearing. 

Tanya was unclad. The sight of her bare skin has brought Lyzzy into a more lustful frenzy. 

Lyzzy’s touch grew gentler. "That’s right," she murmured half to herself, stroking her palms up and down Tanya’s sides. "This is your first time, isn’t it?"

"Y–yes," Tanya squirmed and gasped helplessly.

"Hmm, maybe I ought to take it slow, then." Lyzzy’s mouth trailed kisses down the side of the girl’s neck to the sharp line of her collarbone. Her skin tasted slightly salty and ashy. Lyzzy felt Tanya stiffen as her lips moved lower and her fingers slowly reach the inside of her thighs. "Relax," she murmured, her mouth moving against her captive’s body. "I’m not going to hurt you." Her hands slid down to pluck at the belt at Tanya’s waist.

The maid followed her owner’s orders about silence and submission to the letter, right up until the end. She did let out a strangled yelp when Lyzzy’s hand first slid in between her thighs and a sharp cry or two when her release finally came.

Lyzzy stroked her gently until the last tremors had rocked the girl’s slim body. Then she pulled Tanya against herself, holding the head that lay against her shoulder like a child’s. The slave was shivering violently; soft little sobs shook her. 

"Shh," Lyzzy reproved as she drank the scene before her. "Quiet, now. No one’s going to hurt you."

"I can’t, please, no more... I..." Tanya’s voice broke

"Shh," Lyzzy said again. "You are all right." 

Small hands clung tightly to the front of Lyzzy’s chemise. She held the trembling little body until it finally lay still. Then she peered down. Tanya’s eyes were closed, and her head was dead weight on Lyzzy’s chest. She was asleep.

_ I really should make her get dressed and tie her up for the night.  _ _ But then again, it is rather nice to have my bed warmed. I never had the opportunity to do this with the scullery maid.  _

After some deliberation, she scooped Tanya to her arms and brought her to her old room. Laying the exhausted maid onto the comfortable bed, Lyzzy laid next to her. Reached back to pull her blanket over the two of them, she made sure that Tanya’s naked form was well covered. 

_ I will just leave it for tonight. I can always catch her again later if I need to. After all, she has nowhere to go. She seemed to be a proud girl and she would not choose death over me. _

Lyzzy mentally made a note to have the maid prepare her a bath when they wake. She has always fantasized of touching another intimately while in the process of cleaning. She doubted there would be actual cleaning involved when she managed to invite Tanya in. All the pink powder in the world could not compare to the faint blush that spread on her cheeks. She would love to have Tanya with her in the tub. Very much so.

With that, she rested her head on the pillow, draping an arm over Tanya and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short and the ending might seem abrupt, but hey next story coming up.


End file.
